


Retrieval

by lextenou



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Enchanted Forest, BAMF Women, Canon-Typical Violence, Challenge Response, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-17 11:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12365196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lextenou/pseuds/lextenou
Summary: The Champion sets to a task for her Queen, intent upon her favor. A simple retrieval, from a simple tavern, in a simple town.





	Retrieval

**Author's Note:**

> A writing exercise meant to be read with either as Champion or Queen, depending on your pleasure.

Low hanging smoke coiled in lazy rivulets around the rafters and rough hewn tables of the Drunken Ogre. The clientele had long since stopped watching the latest to their number, a sturdy merc in homespun wool. The larger weapons the merc had carried in remained in check at the bar - an ill-fated attempted to maintain order with the minimum of deaths. Naturally, all patrons still retained their daggers and shorter knives as remained the custom of the land. The traders from the Hinterlands had yet to convince the larger populace to adopt their oddity of eating with sticks.

After the merc’s third tankard of ale, Big Berda rose from her seat near the rear of the tavern. The privy and rear entrance remained at her side when she took that seat. There was a reason why she threw the last blackguard who’d dared to sit in her seat out on his ear.

“Yer new.”

The merc took a swig of ale from the tankard and said nothing. Berda stared for a heartbeat before dropping into the booth on opposite of the silent merc.

“Yer a quiet sort.”

A single shoulder raised in reply.

Berda shook her head.

The merc’s hood tipped back enough for Berda to see a wry smile quirking one side of the merc’s mouth.

The rough wood, it’s sharpest edges smoothed by countless bar fights and tankards slid acrost it’s surface, nearly caught the folded slip of paper that the merc slid across. Berda opened the bloodstained scrap and frowned.

“We’ve naught the likes of yer merchandise in stock. Ye’ll be needing the Flying Fin.”

The merc’s head tilted to one side. Berda exhaled. “One. But jus’ in today. Ain’t had time to see the status of merchandise.”

The merc’s shoulder raised again, then two fingers waved dismissively.

Berda grunted and stood. “Ten minutes and five hundred.”

The merc reached for a pouch and laid a small bag on the table. Berda hefted the bag. Felt like six, but she’d also been used to clipped gold for far too long. She raised an eyebrow. “Come back from a campaign, ain’t ye.”

The merc’s shoulder raised again, one arm flinging out to rest against the back of the bench.

Berda shook her head and signaled to her second. If the merc wanted untested merchandise, it wasn’t any skin off her nose.

Ten minutes later, the merc strode from the tavern, three coppers covering the cost of the drinks, with one more besides for the lack of trouble. Booted feet scraped across the paving stones in a soft tattoo, the crowd ebbing and flowing around the cloaked merc.

The stables stood ahead, housing the merchandise bought and paid for. 

The merc entered.

Across the way, a bay stallion watched the merc with intelligent eyes, his ear flicking toward the back room. 

The merc smiled.

“Yer the shithead what tried to trap Berda.” The low, onion infused growl sounded from beside the merc. 

A shoulder raised in a negligent shrug.

“Ye’ve made the wrong choice, hireling.” A meaty fist swept down from above to where the merc used to be. A heavily booted foot connected solidly with one knee and the attacker went down with a sharp cry. The attacker’s sword was grasped, still held in one meaty fist, and used to press against the throat of the attacking buffoon.

The sharp edge pressed firmly against the erstwhile attacker’s throat. He swallowed heavily, his voice caught high in his throat. “By the gods, show yerselves and help me!”

The barest hint of sound had the merc turning the stumbling captive with barely an instance to spare. An arrow pierced through his sternum, leaving him limp in the merc’s arms. 

A low, chilling laugh sounded through the stable. 

“The Champion!”

“Fuck, go, go, go!”

Panicked shouts erupted as the disguised Champion shoved the dead attacker away and ran across the hay and manure strewn floor. A knife was flung through the air and embedded within the chest of the archer that had been drawing a fresh arrow, destined for the throat of the Champion. The archer fell forward from the loft, crashing in an ungainly heap upon the floor with a wet thud. Thankfully, the hay was there absord the seeping blood and brain matter that erupted from the archer’s smashed skull.

The Champion continued forward, to the small tackroom. The door was flung open to reveal -

“Ruby!" Muffled shouts and curses sounded from behind the cloth stuffed within Ruby’s mouth. Kneeling, the Champion quickly released it and the rest of the bindings with rapid slashes of the rough rope. A simplistic necklace was snapped away from Ruby’s neck, and the raw redness that was revealed everywhere that the rope was pulled away healed to smooth, unmarred skin in short order. "How in the hell did they capture you?”

“I trusted the wrong person. He’s dead now.”

A soft laugh sounded. “That’s my girl.” Ruby grinned and stretched, her mouth opening widely in an obscene yawn. “If you’re quite done.”

Shaking her limbs loose, Ruby rolled her head on her shoulders. A raised eyebrow at the Champion received a nod. 

Ruby closed her eyes, the change coming over her rapidly. When she opened her eyes again, she looked up at the Champion and whuffed softly, nudging at the Champion with her muzzle.

A quick scritch behind the ear had Ruby knowing she was forgiven for this effort, and they were off. The journey back to the castle was quiet. None truly wished to tangle with the looming form of a fully grown wolf that glared at any who tread too close. The Champion rode alongside, the trot of the bay stallion keeping pace with the loping of the wolf. 

A half day’s ride saw them returned to the castle from whence they came. The guards snapped to at the sight of the Champion and the wolf, their salutes crisp and as perfect as the day the Champion had trained them.

Once within the salle, Ruby shifted to her usual form and embraced the Champion in a firm hug. “Thank you.”

A wry smile curved the Champion’s lips. “You’re welcome, Ruby.”

“Champion?” The tentative query sounded from Ruby’s elbow. A shaking page trembled before them. “The Queen wishes your presence.”

The Champion chuckled darkly. “Oh she does, does she?” A hand clapped down on the page’s shoulder. “Lead the way, lad.”

The throne room loomed large and imposing above their heads, the banners heralding past victories and rulers waving slightly as they dangled from the voussiers. One, showing the Queen and the Champion’s ascension, was lit by the setting sun in a brilliant cacophony of color.

“My Champion. You have returned to us.” The rich tones of the Queen vibrated through the room, sending a frisson through the Champion. 

“My Queen.”

The Queen released a dismissive wave to the assembled throng. “Further deliberations will wait for tomorrow.” The Queen rose, and those assembled saluted or bowed, as per their station. The Champion straightened and strode to the Queen’s side, one arm extended to allow the Queen to rest a hand upon wool as they retired.

Their chamber was shortly a scant dozen steps away, nary a word past betwixt them since their retirement from the throne room.

As soon as the door closed with a solid thud behind them, Regina pressed forward, her hands pulling at her lover’s garments as her mouth latched onto the smooth column of neck exposed before her. Tugging, untying and decloaking was accomplished in short order, each eager to divest the other of their encroaching garments. 

“Do you have any idea how much I missed you?” Regina murmured against the small scar upon her lover’s breast. 

“As much as I missed you, I reckon.” Emma’s hands palmed the smooth curve of Regina’s hips, guiding the rhythm of their bodies. Heated kisses were broken as muscled thighs pressed against each other, their slickness allowing them to slide easily against one another.

Emma rested her forehead against Regina’s, a grin forming. Regina’s grin matched it, and she reached forward. Their lips met in a fierce kiss, quickly spiraling further into the throes they ached for. When their releases came, they came quickly upon one another, each feeding upon the other as they collapsed together.

Heavy panted breaths disturbed the stillness of the encroaching darkness, soft caresses drifting across cooling skin.

“I love you, my Champion.”

A wry grin preceded a soft kiss. “And I you, my Queen.”


End file.
